Page 41 of Legendary Rock Star
In time, maybe we could reconnect. Anything was possible. But only if I saved my butt right now. So I waved them off and said sincerely, “Thanks.”
I waited until they turned the corner and then I continued toward the stage just as they called out Finnigan, the first contestant. I rushed toward the lineup to find Maggie, but right outside the door to the studio I needed to be in, Samantha appeared. She curled her arms around me like she wanted to hug.
I refused to hug her back, and she pouted and said, “Phoenix.”
My mind raced. Was there more? Nothing of any importance had happened with this woman, but that didn’t mean the show couldn’t misconstrue and manipulate something. Samantha was an actress.
TV had taught me to never trust producers. I ignored how my hair stood on its end and asked, “Samantha, why are you back again?”
Her painted lips pouted some more and she said, “I just met with your Maggie. I need to ask, why her?”
Samantha was a typical Hollywood starlet. She was skin and bones, and everything about her looks was phony and unnatural, compared to Maggie.
I’d been starved to meet someone like Maggie, and I needed to prove myself worthy of her. I held my tongue to be polite and said simply, “She’s wonderful and I need you to leave us alone.”
She rolled her blue eyes with vibrant yellow lids and said, “She doesn’t believe in you.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“The show provided me with tickets.”
“Just leave me alone,” I said and reached for the door behind her.
I walked in as entrance music played. I rushed past Jane and grabbed Maggie’s wrist to warn her. I was covered in goosebumps when I said, “Wait.”
The host called her name. She tugged on my grip and said, “Phoenix, I’m due on stage.”
My heart beat wildly as the music grew louder. Her blue eyes widened as I said, “Whatever they say to you out there, promise you’ll talk to me after.”
She unhooked herself from my grip and nodded as she said, “We already said that. They’re calling my name now.”
“They set a trap,” I called out after her. I wished she’d listen, and that I had the words to explain everything.
She waved behind her and said, “I’ll see you after the performance. I promise.”
Jane closed her eyes to prepare as she was next. Adrenaline coursed in my veins as Maggie sang a Madonna song designed for an alto in her natural soprano tones.
The band even played for an alto, like they hadn’t rehearsed at all.
She had been set up to fail and I hadn’t stopped it.
This was my fault. I understood how TV worked, unlike Maggie, Jane, or any of the other contestants.
But that didn’t stop me from cringing when I heard the British judge say, “Maggie, your rendition of that song was haunting, but flat.”
If they wanted her to succeed, something by Pat Benatar or multiple other songs written for a soprano would have worked better.
The pop star popped her gum and said, “I’m unsure what quality there is in your voice that makes you a break-out star. It might have been your relationship that kept you out of the bottom three last week.”
The third judge, who normally just phoned in his opinion, said, “I agree with the rest of the panel.”
The host then threw the microphone in her face and said, “So the judges were hard on you tonight.”
Maggie’s eyes were glassy on camera, like she was crying, when she said, “I just hope the audience judges me based on their own opinions.”
The host then held her elbow and asked, “I have one more question for you before you go off stage.”
I froze as she asked, “What?”
